The Kindred Years
by DeliciousKrabKakes
Summary: Mini-stories that pertain to the childhood and/or infancy of Amelia and Matthew. Established FrUk relationship. FACE family. K plus for language and possible adult situations (Thanks, France...). There may be mentions of pairings that I like. **DISCONTINUED**
1. Meet the Nations

**DISCLAIMERS:**

**I, DeliciousKrabKakes of Fanfiction (dot net), do not own or have any affiliation with the creators of Hetalia: Axis Powers. All rights respectfully go to Himaruya Hidekaz and Funimation Entertainment. I do not gain any sort of profit from the writing of this fiction, I simply write for fun.**

**NOTES:**

**There may or may not be some continuation of a few of these one shots within this story. These are all centered around Amelia and Matthew's childhood and/or infancy.**

**TIME JUMP. This means that this story will jump into the "modern" world, but Amelia and Matthew will still remain lil' kiddos.**

**Matthew Appears: 5 years**

**Amelia Appears: ½ year (6 months)**

* * *

_**The****Kindred Years**_

_Chapter One: Meet the Nations_

* * *

It was a well-known fact that Francis Bonnefoy was a show-off. He often dressed in flamboyant and flashy outfits to get attention from his _adoring _peers. There were two assets that he had that were never allowed to be shown to others, though. Matthew and Amelia. The little colonies that were officially considered Franco-English territories. It was sort of an unspoken agreement that Canada was more of a French colony, while America was more under the care of England. Therefore, Matthew would stay with Francis while Amelia would stay with Arthur.

Though France had wanted to care for Amelia originally, he was quite happy with Matthew. Francis often complained, however, that he wanted to dress up Amelia like the pretty little mademoiselle that she was. It seemed to be a ritual that whenever Francis came to visit Arthur and his tiny charge that the Frenchman would bring a little homemade dress that he expected her to be thrust into as soon as possible. Luckily for Francis, Arthur seemed to be glad for a break from the woes of caring for an infant whenever possible. Another reason that Francis had been quite content to care for Matthew. Just from _hearing _babies, Francis was set for life. He could dress them up, make them laugh, and even feed them (bottles or something else that is not very messy, mind you). But trying to put them to sleep? No thanks. Deal with all the drool and gross things that seemed to radiate from the little things? Nope. Change their diapers? **Hell **no. Francis most definitely was fine with being the doting papa, the one that gets all the perks of being a parent with none of the "yuck" factors. Besides, Arthur was such a mother hen anyway. America was only a baby, so she'd need all the focus that England could give, but he'd suffocate poor Canada with all the attention and fussing he does.

Anyway, back to more important things. Like France.

Francis liked to gloat and brag but the little colonies were something that he could never show off in front of the other nations, thanks to their other, more over-protective parent. Francis always called the Brit their "mother" or "mama" just to irritate him. He was rather insistent on "mama" being America's first word regarding England. Of course he wouldn't mind the first word to be "papa" in regards to himself, either.

Finally, however, Francis had broken the Brit's walls. Through drunkenness and irritation, Francis recieved the permission for Matthew and Amelia to attend the next world meeting which was taking place in Venice, Italy.

* * *

"Cher, you can sit down. Les bébés are fine, as cute as ever." Francis rolled his eyes at Arthur's expense, who was busy flitting around like a mother hen. The Frenchman was answered with a grunt of dissatisfaction. England tied the little bow around Matthew's neck and tucked in the toddler's shirt for what seemed like the fiftieth time. Mattie didn't say a word, though, being the polite little boy that he was. Arthur looked at the older of the two children and deemed him fit for the world meeting. Matthew was dressed like a gentleman but Francis needed to throw in some of his own flair as well. A red dress shirt coupled with a white vest adorned with a maple leaf, a pair of black dress pants, a small pair of black and white dress shoes, and all of it topped off with a white bow around his neck. With a nod, he sent the child to sit next to Francis for the five minutes until they were due to leave.

England looked around for his little charge, who he found next to the telly as she chewed avidly on her fist. Grimacing, the bushy-browed Brit went to her and took the drool-covered appendage from her mouth.

"No, no love. We're going somewhere important today, we don't want you getting your pretty dress all... slimy now, do we?" With a smile, he held onto the fist and looked at his little girl. Amelia looked at England, her fist, than back at England once more. From the look on her face, you could tell that she had no clue what was going on and that she wanted her fist back to suck on. Blue eyes welled with crystal tears and the baby started to whimper. Not wanting to deal with a sobbing infant right before taking the children to the first (and hopefully last) world meeting of their young lives, Arthur looked around for something to calm her down with. As the whining became more desperate, so did the blonde man as he searched all over the Italian hotel room.

"Oi, where the bloody hell is her dummy?!" Arthur addressed no one in particular. Matthew came to the rescue by kneeling next to Amelia and making a few silly faces. Looking at her older brother, she smiled and reached for him happily. This distraction gave England time to find what he was looking for, a small pacifier that matched the blue of the dress that she had been put into. She was also wearing a pair of white tights and some little black dress shoes. France had made sure that she would look lovely by making the dress himself. It was a light blue with some white lace thrown in. In the back, there was a little white bow. While Arthur made himself presentable for the meeting, Francis set off to finish the little girl's hair. After combing through the little golden curls, he pinned it back loosely with a blue bow. He had wanted to give her a little makeup, too. Maybe give her some eyeshadow or something of that nature. Not too much because she was already nearly as gorgeous as he was, but a little makeup never hurt anyone. He wouldn't have put blush on her because her cheeks already had that baby glow in them and he wouldn't have used anything on her lips because she had a tendency to drool... a lot. He had only just gotten his kit out when Arthur heard the tell-tale click of the lock on his case being undone.

"If I see my daughter with _anything _on her pretty little face, I'll ruin yours so horribly that your bloody _mum_ couldn't recognize you." Francis contemplated whether or not he would do what he wanted anyway but decided against it.

"Ah, Angleterre, you are no fun."

Soon enough, the family of four left to go to the place where the meeting would be held in Venice.

* * *

The meeting room was packed full of noisy, chattering nations. Arthur was a bit nervous to be bringing his two children into such an environment. The blonde curled his toes and hesitated again. Unfortunately, there was no backing out of this now. He bit his lip and tightened his grip on America, which earned him a small cry of protest and a little slap to his chest. Deciding to get this all over with, Arthur walked into the room behind Francis who was already showing off the young child that was clutching onto his leg in fear.

Not long after the four walked in, Matthew was seated on the table as he listened to the men, his papa and daddy included, prattle on and on about how tall he was sure to become and how he would be strong because he already was very sturdy and could nearly overpower Francis when he was upset, to which France was indignant and refused to make the statement from Britain a confirmed fact.

"He will be awesome as soon as he can get old enough to go out drinking and stuff! Not as awesome as me, 'cause _no _kid is that awesome, but awesome enough to beat Austria down like a sap!"

"Excuse me?! Just because _I _have class—!"

"He's too bloody young to be even _thinking_ about alcohol, git!"

"He seems to like that white bear, aru. Maybe he likes pandas. I'll have to show him some, aru~!"

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, America was being held by Hungary while all the women cooed and made themselves lose thirty IQ points every minute that they spoke to her. Felicia, ever the bubbly Italian woman, talked about bringing her home to try pasta and pizza. Though Matthew was shy and blushed as he was fussed over, Amelia _loved _all the people who were near her and giving her compliments. She squealed happily as Felicia tickled her midsection, her binkie falling out of her mouth in the process.

It seemed as though it was a good idea in bringing the children along. No one seemed to want to kill each other in the presence of the kids, Arthur hadn't the need for worrying about the two little nations being left alone with a sitter, and the small children seemed to be having a good time as well.

Enter Russia on this scene.

The pipe-wielding yeti-man walked into the room with a smile and a short apology for his tardiness. Even Germany wouldn't touch on the subject of his being late with a ten foot rod. Mumbled replies echoed as the rest of the noises were quieted. Except for one small noise that grabbed the blonde Russian's attention. America was still happily giggling away from her spot in Ukraine's arms. The shy woman smiled sweetly-if not a bit worriedly-at the baby. Ivan seemed intrigued by the cooing and laughing as a smile formed on his own lips. Arthur was nearly wetting himself where he sat from a few seats away. He wanted that man as far away from his little girl as possible. Then a few thousand miles more. Instead of backing away to Arthur's desires, Ivan went up close to the infant and looked at her.

Amelia giggled once more before looking up at the shadow that had fallen over her. Russia was smiling and trying to _not _look menacing, which was honestly more frightening than any normal expression he could offer. Felicia burst into tears of fright as she hid behind Germany with a white flag already waving. The stoic man sighed with a throbbing temple. Silence reigned in the room for a few seconds as little America looked up at the Russian with wide blue eyes.

After a few moments of terse quiet, Amelia went back to giggling and held out her arms to the large man above her. Arthur felt faint and collapsed on the floor. Violet eyes widened to saucer-size as pudgy hands tried to reach for him. Almost reluctantly, Kat handed the infant to her brother. Once settled in the arms of the scarfed man, Amelia took to babbling excitedly again. Small, pudgy hands grabbed the Russian's nose and tugged. She pulled her hand away and looked at it, seemingly disappointed that his nose was not in it. Chuckling, Russia sat down in his assigned seat so the meeting could begin.

One by one; the nations went up, gave speeches and presentations, got a few things of various origins thrown at them, before finally being seated again. Amelia and Matthew had been interested when the pattern had started but had since gotten over the initial excitement. Matthew was playing quietly with his papa's phone, his little legs swinging from over his perch on France's lap. Amelia was still being held by Russia, as no one had dared ask to hold her since she had reached out her arms. She was fast asleep, comfortably pressed against the older nation with her head resting on his chest.

Eventually, the meeting came to an end and the time came for all of the nations to return back to their respective homelands. England, who had been woken up by France not long after he had fainted, hesitated before striding up to the Russian that still held the snoozing infant. Ivan had remained seated throughout everything and spent the time away by slowly rocking the child back and forth. It seemed to have worked well, as America was still sleeping soundly. England cleared his throat, gathering the Russian's attention. The violet-eyed man smiled, sending a small shiver up Britain's spine.

"Baby is cute, da?" England looked at the girl who sneezed quietly in her slumber. The Brit smiled.

"Yes; when she wants to be, Amelia can be the sweetest little girl around. Now, I was wondering if I could possibly take her home now. It _is_ getting late and she needs her bottle."

Ivan sighed and petted her hair.

"Da." With that, he handed the child over to her father. She shifted and whined at the difference but England held her tighter and tried to make her cozy enough. Finding a comfortable place on his shoulder quickly, Amelia drifted off again. Sighing in relief, Arthur walked off to find Francis. Ivan sighed heavily when Arthur left the room. He didn't want to have to give America back to her father. As pathetic as it may have sounded, it was good to be wanted and needed by someone. Through the whole meeting, the girl never once cringed away from him or cried, like most babies (and adults, for that matter) often did. Like all good things involving Ivan, though, the feeling of someone actually desiring his presence was gone with her.

* * *

"Bloody hell, you _had _to leave me alone! I had to get Amelia away from that pipe-wielding psychopath! You couldn't have even waited a few minutes, you stupid git!" Arthur whisper-yelled at Francis. The Frenchman grinned but didn't reply because he was holding Matthew who, like his sister, was fast asleep. Russia walked by the family of four, stirring up a cool breeze as he did so. One could tell from his darkened expression that he had heard what Arthur had said. Normally, he'd be wringing the tea-sipping moron's neck right about now but America was sleeping on his shoulder still. So, it was ignored as though he were deaf to the words. He was used to it, anyway.

"Never again." Arthur hissed through his teeth. Francis kept his sly grin and wisely maintained his silence. England glared viciously, keeping his arms protectively wrapped around the sleeping baby on his chest.

True to his word, Arthur threatened Francis with a good kick in the balls every time he saw him if the Frenchman _ever _got him drunk enough to persuade him into doing a stunt like that again.

But Francis got his wish, in an offhand sort of way. He _did _receive attention through the two children. Not so surprisingly, the rest of the world had fallen in love—to an extent, at least—with both of them.

* * *

**Reviews and Constructive Criticism are _always _welcome! Let me know via review if you want me to continue!**

**~DKK**


	2. Messy House, Happy Home

**DISCLAIMERS:**

**I, DeliciousKrabKakes of Fanfiction (dot net), do not own or have any affiliation with the creators of ****Hetalia: Axis Powers****. All rights respectfully go to Himaruya Hidekaz and Funimation Entertainment. I do not gain any sort of profit from the writing of this fiction, I simply write for fun.**

**NOTES:**

**There may or may not be some continuation of a few of these one shots within this story. These are all centered around Amelia and Matthew's childhood and/or infancy.**

**TIME JUMP. This means that this story will jump into the "modern" world, but Amelia and Matthew will still remain lil' kiddos.**

**Matthew Appears: 6 years**

**Amelia Appears: 8 months**

_**The**_ _**Kindred**_ _**Years**_

_Chapter Two: Messy House, Happy Home_

Britain sighed, running fingers through his unkempt hair. Emerald eyes scanned the little home that he shared with his baby colony. Said colony was napping, which gave the older nation time to clean up the messy house.

Francis had given him not-so-subtle hints that he and his charge, Matthew, may drop by at some point. While he hated having the Frenchman in his close proximity, it was improper and rude to cater to guests with a disorganized home. Besides, Amelia loved it when Matthew was nearby—and Matthew absolutely adored his little sister. But this unfortunately was the cause of another thing that Arthur didn't like when Francis came over; Amelia _hated _it when her older brother (and her "papa") left. Ceaselessly, she would bawl and reach out for the door or window, whereas the older Matthew would just pout and wave until the house was out of sight. Francis _did_ work with Arthur, though, usually leaving when Amelia was taking a nap or when she was distracted with something. Eventually, when the infant realized that her big brother wasn't nearby, she would start crying. It sometimes took a near half-hour for the babe to get settled down again.

Arthur cleaned all of the dirty dishes and washed out all of the small baby bottles thoroughly. It didn't take long for the kitchen and dining room to be clean, but the living room took a while longer. America had a habit of throwing toys around and leaving them there to play with something else. Not to mention that she was still teething, so many of her toys had a fine coating of drool on them. Lovely.

With practiced efficiency, England cleaned off all of the toys which he later put neatly into a little pink toy chest (they probably wouldn't stay there for too long, once the rambunctious blonde woke up from her nap—fully energized and ready to play). Happily, Arthur wiped off his hands with a cloth and looked around the newly-cleaned house. All of the rooms were finished to his expectations, including the bathroom and the guest bedrooms. He didn't go into America's room, as she was still fast asleep and he didn't want to disturb her. Her room rarely got really dirty anyway, as he liked to have her in the parlor area as much as possible. Sighing contentedly, he glanced at the clock to find that it was past noon, nearly one. He weighed his options. He could relax for a bit; have a cup of tea and sit down to himself, having Amelia just eat a late lunch. Or he could wake up the little one and have her eat now but sacrifice himself some free time until she went to bed for the night (or if she decided to nap in the afternoon, which she tended to do from time to time). Cracking his knuckles, his answer came to him when he heard some rustling and a soft cooing noise from the baby monitor on the kitchen table.

Arthur walked into the nursery, greeted with pastel pinks and yellows, and looked down at the baby in her crib. She was yawning and rubbing her large, doe-like eyes while she curled her little toes inside of their frilled white socks. Smiling at the sweet sight, Arthur ran his fingers gently through her curly blonde hair. Opening her eyes, Amelia grinned, her stub of a single white tooth showing, at her paternal figure and gurgled happily. Arthur took her into his arms and tapped her nose gently.

"Good afternoon, poppet. Did you sleep well, love?" His question was answered with a giggle and a slight attempt to gnaw at his index finger. "No, no. I need that, but," he offered her a pacifier which she readily took, "there we are. Let's get you out of that wet nappy, hm?" Thankfully, America was most cooperative with him right after waking up. Her sodden nappy was off and changed quickly; England was now relatively good at the ritual by now—having to do it several times daily.

Not long after, the little girl was clad in a fresh nappy and her hair was combed out. Though she didn't have _long _hair, it was beautiful in the amounts that she did have. It was very curly and was a golden, sunshine-y blonde.

From this morning, Arthur had dressed her in a little pink T-Shirt with the sleeves puffed out. This morning she had also been put into a pair of little white legging-pants but they had since been taken off. For some obscure reason, America _hated _pants, tights, leggings, and any other article of clothing that restricted her legs. The only way that Arthur could be sure that the infant would be properly dressed throughout the day, _without _watching her like a hawk, was if she were to be in a dress or overalls. It didn't really matter _what _covered her legs, Amelia always found a way to wriggle out of it. Though it aggravated England to no end that his daughter wouldn't keep pants on, Francis always laughed at it and made simply _hilarious_ jokes on the subject.

"Honhonhon mon cher, you better make sure zat she keeps her bottoms on when she gets older~" Thankfully, she didn't try to undiaper herself. When she could get away with it, she just liked to toddle around in a shirt and nappy. Possibly socks, depending on her mood. It didn't really matter today, as the two were inside and not planning on going out. Glancing outside, Arthur noticed that it was still raining cats and dogs. No thunder or lightning yet but it was to be expected, if he listened to the newscasters. Having already prepared a bottle earlier, Arthur heated the drink in the microwave. With it, he also heated up a jar of tan-colored baby mush. At the same moment that the microwave beeped, a loud **BANG** resounded through the house. Yelping (a manly shout, you git!) in fear, England clutched the infant closer to him and got on his knees behind the counter.

"Mon cher~ I am here, as promised~!" An obnoxious voice rang out and the front door closed nearly as loudly as it had opened. England sighed in relief (and annoyance) as he stood and grabbed the bottle and jar out of the microwave.

"Bloody hell, frog. You _could_ have knocked... wanker." America, as soon as she heard Francis' voice, squealed and struggled in her father's grip. It had been a while since she saw her papa and older brother. Setting the jar and bottle on the table, Arthur obliged and set her on the floor. Shakily, she toddled over to France and Matthew with her arms waving for balance. Walking was still a relatively new skill, so it was very difficult to do without being held by the hand. After nearly giving the floor a kiss, France picked her up with a grin.

"Ah, but where would ze fun be in zat? Right, mon petit?" France emulated his point with a gentle pinch to the baby's right cheek. In response, America gurgled and took a lock of her papa's hair hostage in her tiny fist. She liked pulling hair. To most people, it was nearly every time they were within reach of her little fists. These people included Francis, Matthew, Austria, a few of the Nordics, all of the female nations, and she never failed to try and rip out fistfuls of Russia's hair. Matthew glanced up at Arthur from behind Francis, with his ever-present white stuffy bear.

"Hi, daddy." Arthur smiled and ruffled the boy's hair, bending to Matthew's six-year-old height.

"Hello there, lad! Have you grown?" Matthew beamed and nodded furiously.

"I think so!" England chuckled and stood.

"Well, off to the wall with us!" Canada bolted off to a wall that was littered with different marks in four different colors. The shortest marks were pink and labeled as "Amelia" with different dates. Next were Matthew's blue marks of different dates. Arthur's green mark was just re-done over and over again to a different thickness and the date was all but crossed out. Francis' mark was the highest on the wall and was red. Like Arthur's mark, Francis' red line was thickened over time with an unreadable date. Matthew snapped to his full height, puffing out his chest for added effect. Arthur chuckled and pulled out a blue marker from the pencil cup on the computer desk not far away. Kneeling by the little nation, Arthur put his hand on Canada's head and squinted at the wall. Using the blue marker, he drew a line where the boy's head stopped on the wall and put down the date. No sooner than Arthur had nodded, Matthew had turned around to face the wall. Indeed, he had grown a little less than an inch since he was last measured. The kindergarten-aged boy let out a whoop and bounced around.

"I grew! I grew! Papa, look!" Francis smiled at the Canadian.

"Oui, ma cherie. I see. Soon you'll be taller than our little Angleterre~!" Matthew giggled and Arthur glared.

"Hey! Measure Lea! Maybe she got bigger, too!" Francis set the toddler down by the wall and tried to keep her still long enough for Arthur to measure her height with the pink marker. It _looked _as though she had grown maybe a little less than Matthew had but it was hard to tell because America wanted no part in any of it, which was determined by her fussing and whining. After Arthur had managed to lay a mark down with the date slapped on, he took the baby into his arms.

"Oh, you poor thing. You must be starving." He cooed sympathetically. He took the little girl over to her high chair and buckled her in. He frowned and took off her shirt, as well. She only had so many clean shirts left without stains of baby food or other soft foods that she was allowed to have. The infant clapped her hands and giggled, knowing lunch was on the way. The Brit shook his head with a grin but dutifully began spooning the mush into her open mouth. Francis chuckled quietly with a hand over his mouth at the odd faces and noises that England made without realizing it. Matthew sat down at the table beside the high chair where his sister ate her lunch. He opened up a doodle book and a package of crayons, he looked at the baby in her chair, studying for a few minutes then began drawing. Francis decided to go into the conjoined living room to take out something akin to a porno novel. Thank heavens neither of the children could read yet; English or French.

The peace lasted for a while; the only noise being the turning of pages, the scribbling of crayons, and the small noises of praise that Arthur offered to the girl in her chair as she ate without complaint. When her jar of mush was about three-quarters gone, however, Amelia began to fuss and refuse the spoon.

"Come on love, only a few bites left and then you can get down. It's a little jar, you can do it!" Arthur held the spoon before her tightly closed lips. He cooed and tried to make things entertaining by making noises as the spoon moved through the air before her mouth. America still avoided the little utensil at all costs. The infant squirmed, shouted in protest, and slapped the spoon away. Finally, _her_ stubbornness outmatched that of her father's and he took the jar away. As he cleaned her face and chest off with a baby wipe, he offered up her bottle. While she suckled diligently on the nipple of her drink, England cleared away everything on the little tray. Upon re-entering the room, Arthur unbuckled her from the chair and held her for a while as she kept her bottle up to her mouth. Arthur then brought out Amelia's little pink shirt and put it back on her, ignoring the little shouts of protest from the irritated baby. The Englishman seated himself beside Canada and watched him as he drew, Amelia turning herself around so she could watch too.

"What are you making there, lad?" The boy looked up and smiled.

"I'm drawing Mia!" Lee-Lee was just one of the many nicknames that Matthew used for his sister. He had used Amy, May, Mia, and just Amelia sometimes. Rarely did he ever use her colony's name of America, only when she irritated him—which happened on occasion. Chuckling, Arthur bounced the smaller of the children on his knee. When aforementioned baby was finished with her bottle, she pulled it out and burped quietly. Interested in the activity in which her brother was currently partaking, America gurgled and reached for his coloring tools.

"No, no. Those are _Matthew's_ crayons, poppet. Not yours. You're too little for those." England pulled her hands away from Matthew's work and, as was expected, tears and a loud wail followed the light admonishing. Arthur sighed and hoisted her up against his shoulder. "Come now, love, no more crocodile tears. Why don't we go play with some of _your _toys, hm?" While he patted her back and carried her over to the little toy bin next to the couch against the wall, the infant calmed down enough to realize that she was nearing her toys. With all thoughts of disappointment out of her little blonde head, America cooed and stretched for the floor. Happy that her racket was ceased with the distraction, England complied by setting her on the playmat near her pink toy chest. He stood and was about to sit down to finish the chapter of his book he was currently reading-a fantasy novel about the coming of dragons-when whimpers and confused babble were elicited from the child below him. She sat on her knees and looked up at him with large, pleading eyes. Amelia could be seven and want a pony or she could be twenty seven and want an Italian Ferrari; with those eyes, there was no possible way that the Brit could ever say no. Which is why he heaved a sigh and sat down on his knees with his shins digging into the soft plush material of the puzzle-piece safety mat that was in an array of feminine colors (ranging from a deep violet to a light pink).

"Alright, love. What'll it be today?" Seemingly pleased, the infant squealed and clumsily clapped her hands together. Using her hands and a lot of her strength (or so it seemed by her grunting and frustrated sounds), she pushed herself to her feet and stood on her wobbly little legs. Clapping again at her feat, making Arthur join in on the celebrations too, she carefully toddled over to her bin and lifted the top. After throwing out several toys, much to Arthur's dismay, she happily trotted back to her father with a little rubber fish. Babbling excitedly, she gave the fish to the British man and toddled away.

Unsure of what to do with the gift, Arthur just held it and waited for her to come back and initiate some sort of game with a few unrelated toys. A little sound of discovery was heard and America came back happily supporting a small plastic fishing pole. Emerald eyes widened to the point of popping out. He spluttered while Amelia sat down directly in front of him and proceeded to whack the fish with her pole several times.

"F-Francis! Look! She made a bloody connection to a fish and a pole!" France merely glanced over and chuckled, placing a mark in his book with a grin plastered on his face.

"Oui. She is going to be a genius, non?" Arthur sensed the sarcasm and glared.

"Frog, she's a bloody _infant_ and is recognizing that there is a connection between a _fish _and a _fishing pole_! Infants don't do that!"

"And _you_ would know what les enfants do and don't do, oui?" He suppressed a chuckle at the Brit's annoyed expression. Ignoring the Frenchman's indifference to the prodigal moment, Arthur set down the toy and took the little pole from his girl-to the baby's confusion and somewhat dismay-to pick her up and beam at her with all the parental pride that seemed possible.

"You're such a smart little girl, _aren't_ you? Daddy is _so_ proud of you! Yes, _you_!" He cooed and praised while rubbing his nose against hers. He was rewarded with a delighted giggle and a snuggle from the little girl. Matthew leaped off his stool and ran over to France while waving his artwork about.

"Papa! Papa! Look! I drawed all of us in a hockey game! 'Cept Amy 'cause she's too little, so she's making a snow-angel next to the rink. See her? Right there, next to the snowman. Look! There's you and me and daddy and I also drawed the funny bird-man too! He's on my team and you and daddy are a team. But we're winning because of the bird on our team. That makes three but since he's a bird it doesn't count. Do you like it Papa?" Francis smiled and hugged him.

"Oui, c'est tres magnifique, mon petit!"

The hours that followed went by rather quickly. Amelia played with her toys, often enticing someone to play alongside her. When Matthew played with her, Arthur and Francis received a well-deserved break. With their children entertaining themselves, there was no need to fussing. Arthur fell asleep within five minutes of the quiet playtime between the little siblings. Since Amelia was put under his care, it seemed as though sleep was a foreign thing that was a privilege only on some days. Francis threw a quilt (presumably one made by the Brit himself) over him and reclined the seat. Later, while Arthur still slept and Francis continued his reading and/or watching, Matthew walked over to the only adult that was awake and shook his hand to get his attention.

"Mm? Oui, ma cherie? Is somesing ze matter?" Matthew shrugged.

"I think Amy needs to be changed 'cause she smells bad." By the look on the Frenchman's face, someone might have just told him that the world was ending and he still would be less shocked. This confused Matthew on a number of levels. Babies don't know when they have to go potty, so they just... go—at least, that's what Daddy told him when he first met his baby sister. So, every now and again, Amelia would have to be laid down and cleaned up. Daddy had always been the one to change her but he always let Matthew help if he wanted. He decided that his papa was just being.. what was that word that daddy used?... Melodramatic. France's eyes darted back and forth as though looking for a means of escape.

"Ah... erm..." He contemplated waking up the Englishman but a glance at his sleeping face made him decide otherwise. Dark circles framed the closed eyes and his breathing was slow and even.

"Papa? Ca va bien?" Blinking at the boy in front of him, Francis sighed.

"Oui. Ca va bien..." Matthew walked away from his Papa and back over to Amelia, who was currently trying to bite a wooden block in half. At least, that's what it looked like to Matthew. She seemed to be grunting and whining behind the block, as though she were in pain. Really it was because she was teething and needed something to comfort her aching gums. The hard edges of the wooden block were perfect in fulfilling this role, so she wasn't in as much pain as before. Francis walked over and winced at the task he knew he would be undertaking. Noticing Francis' discomfort, Matthew sat on his knees in front of Amelia and pushed her gently on her back.

"Daddy taught me a lot of how to change her. I can help you, if you want." Without hesitation, France nodded. "Okay. First we gotta rip off these stickies and open it up. Ready?" Cringing, the older blonde did as he was told and ripped off the tabs on the front of the garment.

"_Mon dieu!_" It took all he could to refrain from running away and vomiting. Matthew giggled at the expression on his face and Amelia looked up from her focus on the block. Squeezing his eyes shut, Francis muttered curses in French.

"What now?" Matthew grinned in amusement and walked his Papa through the steps of changing his sister. Soon enough, she was clad in a fresh diaper and happily babbling behind her block. Matthew washed his hands in the kitchen sink while Francis went into the bathroom feeling violently ill. After his hands were clean, the older brother sat down near his little sibling and poked her cheek.

"You're funny." He stated while grinning, the baby giggling a little.

It was around 7:30 in the evening when Arthur came to. He woke up with a stretch and a yawn as his bones snapped back into place. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair and let himself wake up. God, he slept well. It was a welcome, if not estranged, feeling. Arthur pulled the quilt off of himself and fixed the chair, getting up and spying the clock.

"France? Where are y... Where are the children?!" He heard giggling and squealing coming from the bathroom. Quickly walking down the hall and opening the bathroom door, he was met with Amelia and Matthew taking a bath. Francis was washing Matthew's back with a soft sponge. The older sibling was squirting a little water gun at his sister, who squealed and splashed him while trying to avoid the squirts. Francis noticed the Brit's presence and grinned

"Ah you are awake, mon cher~. Sleep well?" Britain rolled his eyes but nodded. He kneeled by the bathtub and got out a bath pouf. Rolling up his sleeves and applying a generous amount of baby soap to the pouf, he began washing the younger of the two children. Amelia noticed that her father was awake and immediately stopped playing with her brother. Squealing, she latched herself onto the Brit.

"Dada!" The child squeaked while she rubbed her sudsy face against his. Chuckling, Arthur decided that he was going to get wet anyway so he brought his arms around her little form.

"Well, I see _someone_ is happy this evening." The infant grabbed his collar and tried to hoist herself up out of the tub. Arthur grabbed her little hands and guided her back into the warm water.

"Why don't you let me finish washing you first?" Gurgling, not too upset with being in the tub, America settled down and went back to splashing her brother playfully.

The men dutifully washed their respective children, trying to calm the pair down enough to get them clean. By the time the two were scrubbed clean, their hair washed and conditioned; the two adults were soaked but amused. Francis brought Matthew out of the tub and toweled him off, getting him into his polar-bear pajama pants and matching shirt. He glanced at Arthur, who was trying to use Amelia's fluffy yellow towel to pick up the baby from the tub. After pulling her out of the tub, Arthur dried the child off and brought her into her nursery where he was quickly able to change her into a night-time nappy and a pair of dark blue feeted-pajamas with little white stars decorating it. The baby cooed and snuggled into Arthur's shoulder, which was cause for the particular smile that was reserved for only her. She looked tired, so it was apparent that she'd fall asleep against his shoulder soon, which was perfectly fine by him. The blonde man swayed from side to side for a bit, kissing the child's damp hair as he hummed an old Victorian rhyme. Francis had allowed Matthew to turn on the television in the guest bedroom to watch some cartoons before he fell asleep and was now leaning against the frame of the door as he listened to the gentle humming turn slowly into soft singing to the drowsy infant. The Brit continued to sing for a while after the child was fast asleep, sucking on her tiny thumb as she leaned her head against the crook of Arthur's neck. Carefully, he set the baby in her crib, giving her a lingering kiss on her forehead as her breathing evened out.

Arthur lit up in a fiery blush when he saw the grinning Frenchman in the doorway, motioning angrily for the other to move out of the room.

Both children were asleep when Francis wrapped his arm around Britain that night. England scowled but allowed himself to be pulled against the Frenchman's chest. France sighed happily at the day gone by as he tenderly rubbed the Brit's arm.

"We are lucky, non? To 'ave les petits like mon Mathieu and L'Amerique." England couldn't really help the smile that formed on his face at the mention of the children.

"Yes, I suppose we are. Being a parent is as rewarding as it is difficult." The pair laid in the bed for while before a loud cry from the nursery broke the silence. France turned away and buried himself underneath the covers.

"I let you sleep this afternoon, mon cher. It is your turn." He was answered with a grumble as the weight shifted off of the bed.

"Wanker."


	3. The Obligatory Cupcake-Lovers Chapter

**DISCLAIMERS:**

**I, DeliciousKrabKakes of Fanfiction (dot net), do not own or have any affiliation with the creators of ****Hetalia: Axis Powers****. All rights respectfully go to Himaruya Hidekaz and Funimation Entertainment. I do not gain any sort of profit from the writing of this fiction, I simply write for fun.**

**NOTES:**

**There may or may not be some continuation of a few of these one shots within this story. These are all centered around Amelia and Matthew's childhood and/or infancy.**

**TIME JUMP. This means that this story will jump into the "modern" world, but Amelia and Matthew will still remain lil' kiddos.** _**SPECIAL!**_ _**THIS**_ _**IS**_ _**A**_ _**2P!CHAPTER**__**. **_

**Allison Appears: 6 months**

_**The**_ _**Kindred**_ _**Years**_

_Chapter Three: The Obligatory Cupcake-Lovers Chapter_

Oliver Kirkland was a very happy fellow. Most of the time.

Like now, for instance.

He was very happy on this lovely, sunny day with the twittering birds and the fat bumblebees lazing about in his flower garden. He giggled at the humming of the peaceful morning as he sliced fruits and veggies to put them in a blender for his little Allison. The little girl often detested mornings and was more awake at night, constantly up to mischief as she kept Oliver on his toes. It was always "no, Allison!" and, "don't touch that, poppet!", along with the occasional "sweetie, we don't put that in our mouths!". Loved her, though he did, the girl was as rambunctious at night as she was cranky in the morning. He hoped that he could make her happier this morning with a few soft cupcakes and some of her favorite blended foods, as she didn't have quite enough teeth to eat anything completely solid just yet. Vegan-safe, as always. He'd found out (the hard way, when he'd first gained responsibility over the child) that if it were otherwise, she'd refuse to eat it and would be irritable and mistrusting for a few hours before forgetting why she was mad and going about her usual business.

Oliver hummed to himself as he flitted about the kitchen, making breakfast for the sleeping girl and also preparing a cup of tea and a few biscuits for himself. When he was finished with his tasks, Oliver glanced up at the clock that read '7:47' in the morning. _Far too early to worry about waking the little one_, he thought to himself. He sighed in contentment as he was able to enjoy his cup of tea and do some knitting or embroidery.

Unfortunately, about a half hour later, the other occupant of the little cottage wasn't in such good spirits. The infant named Allison sat up in her crib, red irises lazily scanning the scene while she whimpered to herself. She preferred to fall asleep in Oliver's room, often snuggling with the Englishman, but Oliver almost always moved her into her own room early in the morning because of her habit of waking up later and his of waking up earlier. Still, this didn't stop her from searching for the blonde, as she was doing now. Her whimpering turned into whining and she stood in her little bed, pudgy hands gripping the top bar of her crib while she hoisted herself up. She was in a bad mood, partially due to the fact that she smelled dreadful due to the mess in her diaper. She wobbled in her standing position, slightly bow-legged as normal, and stomped her little foot angrily. She started to cry desperately for Oliver's attention.

Immediately, having parent-trained ears by now, Oliver set down his teacup and knitting needles to retrieve the wailing baby. Upon entering the very colorful nursery, (he'd painted it himself, after all) Oliver gave a reassuring smile to the bawling girl. Her dark auburn hair stuck out in knotted curls that fell down to her shoulders. The large, red eyes that she possessed were currently screwed tightly shut as she cried. The man carefully made his way to the crib.

"Oh, what's wrong, poppet? Are you okay? Did you wake up cranky?" As he moved to pick her up, he smelled the problem. With an indulgent smile, he picked up the girl and kissed her nose, calming her down rather quickly while she sucked at her fingers.

"Does Daddy smell a stinky nappy that needs a change, hm?" At Oliver's rhetorical question, Allison pouted and tugged harshly at his hair. He obviously knew the problem, so why wasn't he fixing it? He merely cooed at her again, setting her down on the changing table in the corner. Though Allison was always fussy when it came to nappy-changing, Oliver was definitely a professional at the ritual by now. He quickly got her stripped and cleaned, making a few comments to the child while doing so. He got a new disposable with flowery patterns on it from the shelf on her table and wrapped it securely around her body. Now that she was clean, Allison was less irritable than before but was still pouting due to the fact that the sun was so bright.

Oliver plucked her off the table and carried her to her closet. He flung open the door and bounced the infant on his hip. Smiling at her, he kissed the little one's russet hair.

"What do you think, love? Overalls? Is today a coverall day?" Without expecting an answer, Oliver grabbed a pair of dark-violet corduroy overalls and a yellow long-sleeved shirt with a pink flower on the chest. He cooed happily at how adorable she looked when she was dressed. Noting how fussy she seemed, he grabbed her a pacifier from a nearby bookshelf and offered it to her.  
"Would you like your dummy? Hmm?" The infant readily took the plastic into her mouth and sucked at it to save herself, calming down some but still looking bored. He sat the indifferent baby on his lap and combed through her ringlets while facing the mirror, using her little pink brush. One the knots were out of her russet hair, he put it up in pigtails with elastics that had little flowers on them. He lifted her into his arms to coo and giggle at her.

"Oh, who's daddy's precious little bean? _You_! _You're _daddy's little _girl_!" Allison watched him, almost boredly, and waited for his daily coofest to be done. There were to be several more throughout the day, undoubtedly. Oliver pinched her cheek with a giggle.

"I know, I know, Little Miss Grouchy~ 'Daddy, I want some num nums in my tum tums!'" He mimicked a grumpy little voice that was supposedly to belong to the baby in his arms while he continued giggling and bouncing her a bit. Allison huffed in response, moving herself to lay on his chest with her head on his shoulder. Oliver squeaked happily, carrying her down into the kitchen and setting her in the wooden highchair to eat her breakfast. The man pulled up a chair next to hers and got out the lukewarm blueish-purple berry mixture he'd made for her, pulling the pacifier out so she could eat.

"Open wide, love~! Here comes the aeroplane!" He giggled while the infant opened her mouth to allow the sweetened breakfast to go in. Though she was still grouchy, that was no reason to deny herself a good breakfast.

Oliver cooed at her as she ate, Allison merely giving him a bored look in response. She was always irritable at this time of day, which Oliver had come to expect and adore. He found it incredibly cute the way she pouted at small things in the morning, often taking her frustration out by squeaking angrily and looking to Oliver to fix the issue. Most often, they included full nappies, hunger, boredom, toys that won't cooperate with her, or even just plain exhaustion.

Allison had sort of come to be on a schedule, though it wasn't very strict. She'd wake up at around 8 or 9, get changed, eat breakfast, play for a bit inside or watch a program for small children, be changed again, have a bottle of formula, and possibly play some more before being put down for a nap at about 11 in the morning. After her morning nap, she'd wake up, have her nappy changed again, eat her lunch with a bottle of juice, play outside for a while (Oliver making sure that she was properly dressed, of course), come back in for a small snack and another nappy change, and was laid down for another nap. Waking up for the third time, she was changed again, set down in the living room or sometimes the kitchen to play while Oliver prepared dinner for the both of them, fed supper, sometimes watched a film or just played some more with her toys, was given a bath and changed into a night-time nappy and pyjamas (the man changing into his own pajamas at that time as well), and Oliver would sit in her rocking chair and read to her while she drank some baby formula before he retired with her in his bedroom. Often through the night, the infant would wake up and demand one thing or another; be it a diaper change, more formula, her pacifier, a stuffy to snuggle with, to be rocked again, or even if Oliver just wasn't holding her the right way.

Though it was funny and cute to see her fuss at the small problems she had in the hours of early morning, Oliver hated it when she cried. His heart quite nearly snapped in two whenever she did; so he was always desperate for her to stop, usually on the verge of tears himself. She, unfortunately, did this often as she had no other method of communication. Whether she was hungry, tired, bored, sick, hurt, or just wanted attention; she'd cry as loud as her tiny body would allow her to. Shortly after gaining control of the tiny colony, Oliver had discovered that the girl, though small, had a good set of lungs. She could screech when she wanted to!

Allison continued eating until the jar was empty. She whimpered slightly when Oliver took the jar away, signalling that breakfast-time was done. The Brit, in response, cooed comfortingly and cleaned her off with a wet nap. He didn't want to make her upset, so he immediately gave her the pacifier again.

"It's okay, poppy! Everything's okay! Don't you want to play now?" He smiled at the infant, who pouted up at him and held out her arms up with a few angry noises. Oliver complied with another little coo and a kiss to her forehead. The girl could be quite demanding, even for a baby.

She seemed pleased enough with the holding, only grunting quietly before settling down on his chest, sucking dismissively at the pacifier. The blonde rubbed her back while she sucked, humming happily as he cleaned up the mess that the child had left behind. Allison grabbed his collar and rubbed her face into his sweater-vest, to which he nearly screamed at how adorable she was.

After having cleaned up the mess left behind at breakfast, the infant still on his chest while she sucked her pacifier, Oliver went into the living room and sat down in his armchair. The infant was content to lay on his chest for a bit while she tried waking herself up. He smiled at her and left her be, not wanting to agitate her into screaming again, while continuing his knitting. The girl, after laying down for a while, lifted herself up and looked down at the floor towards her toy chest. Getting the unspoken message, Oliver giggled and set the child down on her hands and knees with a pat to her bottom.

The baby crawled away quickly and made her way to her toy chest, lifting herself up with difficulty and grabbing the first few things she saw. Not too long after, she was busy at play, sucking her pacifier and babbling at her dolls, blocks, and rings. Though her babbling sounded angry and somewhat irritable, she seemed content to play on her own. Usually she was until the afternoon rolled around, then she'd need more attention from someone, usually Oliver. The man was all but elated to oblige her, often eventually making her mad with how close he got to her. The girl continued her play while Oliver continued his own before the infant started whining and squirming around, hiccuping and preparing herself to cry. The blonde jumped up and lifted the girl and patted her comfortingly on the back.

"Oh, don't cry, poppet! Daddy gets so sad when you cry and you don't want Daddy to be sad, do you?" He asked while looking around for the source of her discomfort, finding that she was very wet.  
"I see, love, it's that time again, isn't it?" He glanced up and saw that it was now ten thirty. "Oh! No wonder you're getting all bothered, sweetie! It's almost naptime! Don't you worry, my little honey-bee! Daddy will get you all cleaned up and get your baba so you can lay down, how does that sound?" He cooed and rubbed her back while he speedily made his way back upstairs to the nursery.

Allison whined and squirmed a lot but was otherwise fairly decent during her change, surprisingly. Oliver kissed her cheeks and decided to just leave her to crawl around in just her shirt and nappy. The baby seemed pleased with this as she cooed back at him and leaned against his chest happily, looking thoroughly tired.

Oliver indulged her appetite by preparing a bottle of her formula for her. Smiling down at the squeaking infant, Oliver laid her down in his arms while making his way back upstairs to rock with her before she was laid down again. The Englishman smiled at her quiet fussing as she reached eagerly for her bottle.

With a little giggle, the man obliged and popped the nip into her mouth, the baby wrapping her lips around it and suckling eagerly. Oliver seated himself in the rocking chair with a quiet sigh of content, the girl silently nursing at her bottle, pleased. The man smiled and took to humming a soft tune while taking the elastics out of her hair to run his long, slender fingers through her curls. Allison made little feeding noises but her suckling was steadily getting more lethargic. Not even five minutes later, the tot was fast asleep. At taking out the bottle, the baby whined loudly until a pacifier was placed between her lips so she could continue the motion.

Oliver kissed the infant's cheeks and forehead while patting her pack gently until he heard her burp. With a happy chuckle, he set his little girl in her crib again to allow her to nap. While she dozed, Allison sucked at her pacifier and cuddled with one of her multiple stuffed animals. She looked so serene with her face and body in complete repose, her protruding belly gently moving with every breath she took. Contrary to her normal attitude and general grouchiness, Allison looked so unbelievably contented and relaxed while she slept. Oliver often stayed by her side for a few minutes and watched her nap, as he was doing now. He took care not to be too loud as he murmured gently to the sleeping girl.

"I know I'm not the best for you sometimes, poppet, but I hope you'll forgive me for that. I love you so much, sweetie, and I always will…" He sighed and smiled, patting her small tummy as he stood to leave. "Don't ever grow up, love. I wouldn't know what to do with myself." He smiled and turned on his heel, walking from the room to allow the child her natural and blissfully innocent peace.


End file.
